


Killing With Kindness

by Hammocker



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Author Knows Little About Overwatch Lore, Author is Familiar With the Game and Nothing Else, BDSM, Bottom Hanzo Shimada, Crying, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Hanzo Shimada is Bad at Feelings, Hanzo Shimada is a Little Shit, Hanzo is the Bottomiest Bottom Who Ever Bottomed, M/M, Oral Sex, Painplay, Please Don't Kill Me, Spanking, Sub Hanzo Shimada, Subspace, Suspension, Sweet Jesse McCree, Switching, Vibrators, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 12:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: Thirty-two. Seven. One. Three numbers Hanzo could not shake.





	Killing With Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> As is glossed over in the tags, I haven't read any of the Overwatch comics, nor watched any official promotional animations, and I pretty much exclusively play the game and read a fic here and there. So, if anything here isn't in line with the accepted canon, that would be why. Not too important here, but If that's gonna bug you, take heed.

Thirty-two. Seven. One. Three numbers Hanzo could not shake.

Thirty-two. The fellow clansmen who had betrayed him over the years. In Hanzo’s profession, one did not give trust easily. For all the lessons of honor and loyalty among assassins Hanzo had given his initiates, nearly half had made an attempt on his life at some point or another. When one dealt in death, human decency became no shield from one’s comrades, and a code of honor flimsy at best. Hanzo realized soon enough that even the most nominally loyal initiates would slit his throat if they sensed weakness.

Seven. The friends he’d grown close to over years of drinking and laughing and confiding, only to end their lives in pursuit of one ambition or another. Hanzo still felt regret over their deaths, in small pricks. Part of him wondered if he could ever stop ending those closest to him. If, at some point, it had become an impulse.

One. The lone traitor he’d not yet killed, still angling for a chance to end him. His own brother. The ultimate reminder that loyalty was a fickle tool.

And yet here he was, beating back the demons surrounding these figures of his own volition. A half-grin twisted across his face as he recalled where he was: a situation just as ridiculous as the fool who put him here. Then again, he could hardly place blame on anyone but himself.

Hanzo ground his teeth as he fought to keep his breathing steady. Pain and death were normal in the life of a warrior, especially one in his line of work where torture was as mundane as brushing one's teeth. But he'd gotten himself into this one, willingly so, and he couldn't help but feel that his desires were playing him for a fool. This was all _him_. And that bombastic American of course, whose whistling could be heard through the thin plank walls. The sun drifted across the sky, and sliced through the holes in the ceiling of Jesse’s isolated shack.

There was a tension to the position he found himself in. A vibrator shoved in him, buzzing insistently, just enough to keep him on edge, but never enough to push him over it, to break his will not to give in. It was just right. It was torture, but was he going to demand an end to it? No. He felt better like this than most anywhere else.

Hanzo’s hands were secured above his head, unyielding metal digging into his wrists in the best way possible. His feet were similarly secured to a lower bar, keeping him from touching the ground. He was aware of the metal frame holding him there, but it wasn’t important. All that mattered was that he was kept in suspense. It took him out of his head, having his feet off the ground. That revelation had been under less-than-ideal circumstances, but had ultimately been appropriated for better purposes.

Even with an ever-changing rhythm of vibration, the tension Hanzo was used to was all-but-gone. Even as tears pricked at his eyes, Hanzo felt better. He knew his mood would only be more balanced for experiences such as these. His dragons were so very temperamental, and Hanzo was always so- so angry. It grew tiresome.

It started with merely Jesse bodily restraining him, holding his arms behind his back and forcing him to be still. It soon became clear that that wasn’t enough, and holding Hanzo off of the ground worked best in quieting his restless mind. Then he found that handing Jesse even more power over him drove the constant tension away.

That was what he wanted after all: to find peace, if only for a short period of time.

So he hung there, letting his head sag forward, aware only of his breathing and the buzzing inside of him. Tears dripped every now and again, but he tried not to fight as instinct would have him do. Strange as it might have been, this was good for him. More than that, he trusted Jesse to give him what he needed. Not to say that he’d admit that without a fight.

It was something he’d never expected. Trusting a man who borrowed his wardrobe from the great American tradition of herding cattle. Ridiculous. Yet Jesse wasn’t the fool Hanzo had assumed him to be on their first meeting. He was ridiculous, indeed, but he was also sharp, dangerous, agile, and, as much as Hanzo was loath to admit it, sweet. Jesse teased to no end, but he’d been kind to Hanzo when it counted. It wasn’t something Hanzo was accustomed to, nor something he was willing to let go.

As his thoughts wandered, the door creaked open and Hanzo heard heavy, spurred boots crossing the floor. Hanzo couldn’t even find the strength in him to look up and track his movements. He was already too far gone for that.

“Hey, baby,” Jesse said, stepping in front of him to put a hand under his chin. “Ain’t you just the prettiest picture?”

Hanzo would have had a retort, if this had been any other time. In that instant, though, all he could do was allow his gaze to be shifted and glare at Jesse through glassy eyes.

“Feelin’ good?” Jesse asked, giving him a soft smile.

Hanzo managed a murmur of defiance. As soon as he did, he heard a click and the buzzing ramped up to a constant hum. Hanzo let out a cry and tried to arch his back, towards or away from the sensation, he couldn’t tell which. It was too much, but he wanted it. He was wracked with a sob, fighting in vain to keep the tears back.

“Aw. Made you cry, huh?”

Hanzo gave an indignant huff, the most pride he could muster. Jesse didn’t pay him any mind, only reached up to wipe away his tears.

“That’s alright, sugar, don’t worry none about that.” Jesse ran his prosthetic hand down Hanzo’s side and kissed his jaw. “‘S jus’ you ‘n me, no one’s gonna know.”

Another sob, mixed with a laugh. Such a strange man, Jesse. Perfectly willing to suspend and torment Hanzo, but never willing to stop reminding Hanzo that he cared. He knew what was important to Hanzo, how to humble him without hurting him. Jesse understood his needs.

Jesse took his hand away, allowing Hanzo’s head to loll back down. Another click and the vibrator let up, drawing a sigh of relief from Hanzo. From there, he stalked around to Hanzo’s back side.

“I ever tell you how perfect you are?” Jesse asked.

“As often as you tell me the time,” Hanzo bit back weakly. “And you are always equally wrong on both matters.”

Jesse sniffed, something that may have been a laugh as much as it may have been an indication of disapproval.

“Guess you’re still together enough to be makin’ smart comments.” Jesse leaned up against Hanzo, hands resting on his thighs. “Bet I can fix that.”

Again, the vibrator started buzzing like mad and Hanzo threw his head back with a moan. His cock strained against its restraint, desperate for the relief that Jesse was withholding.

Far from his prior comfort, Jesse’s flesh hand came down hard on the swell of Hanzo’s ass. Once, then twice, and another before he paused.

Hanzo gritted his teeth on each blow, but forced his head up to spit at McCree, “Is that your best? You couldn’t force cattle forward like that, and you certainly cannot break my spirits.”

“It ain’t,” Jesse replied simply. “But if you insist, darlin’.”

Hanzo heard Jesse take a couple steps, followed by light shuffling of things on a wood table.

With no warning, something thin and almost sharp came down on Hanzo’s back. He didn’t even have time to cry out before it came down again and again. He howled through it all, as the blows travelled down his back to his thighs and rear, and he couldn’t help the tears that flowed down his face this time.

The beating, the sensation of it, changed Hanzo somehow. There was no better way to describe it. It seemed to rewire his mind, if only for the most fleeting of moments. Nothing mattered, not his heritage, nor his training, nor any terrible thing he’d done. All he could focus on was Jesse, delivering pain and pleasure to him all at once.

The frame tilted forward suddenly as Jesse adjusted it. Hanzo braced out of misplaced instinct, earning himself a particularly hard strike on a strip of skin where ass met thigh. He groaned, and kept doing so as more blows rained down, targeting his ass rather than his whole back now. Over time, Hanzo had come to realize that it was the most sensitive part of his body, perhaps even more so than his prostate, and, sooner than later, Jesse understood that as well. 

He was reminded of the first time they’d done this, many months ago. It started with simple groping, Jesse feeling Hanzo’s ass just a little too fervently. From there, Hanzo used every backhanded technique he knew so Jesse might understand what he wanted. Ultimately, after an hour long game of teasing and uncertainty, Jesse had finally taken Hanzo over his knee and given him what he desired most. It was a pleasurable climax for both of them. Jesse was good at reading him, it seemed.

It was that same night that had first reminded him of his captivity, of being tortured, being near to death. Raw bruises on his back. Hooks in his flesh. Blood.

Something about those brutal memories kept him pushing and pushing for Jesse to do these things to him. Kept him wanting.

And these kinds of games had only grown more harsh and more pleasurable. Hanzo knew that he might bruise, but that didn’t matter. For once, he felt simply _good_. Any guilt at his straining cock was pushed to the far corners of his mind. Hanzo let out shameful, earnest cries of need with every strike. In return, Jesse made the vibrator still in him ramp up its speed.

A fireplace. A cast iron rod. The tip of it was shoved against his lower back, against his thighs, leaving its scars. It came far too close to his groin. Screaming.

Hanzo pulled against his restraints, certain that, without them, he would never had stayed in one place for Jesse. The sensations were too much to be still, too much for Hanzo to handle on his own. How ironic, that he’d have run from this, but not from combat and death.

With one final, solid _thwap_ to his ass, Hanzo found his sweetest release. He let his head loll forward, only managing a long grunt as he spilled onto the floor below. 

Jesse’s punishing blows stopped with his climax, but the vibrator never did, keeping Hanzo on edge even once he was spent. Hanzo was relieved to at least have his mind back to a point. Such a strange thing, desiring something that disturbed him. It wasn’t as though Hanzo wished to be abused or to have his agency taken from him, not in any permanent way. He didn’t desire pain. At least, he didn’t desire it from anyone except Jesse. He trusted Jesse to take care of him in his altered mindset.

“Nothin’ smart to say now?” Jesse leaned back in, breath tickling Hanzo’s neck. “Broken clock’s right twice a day, you know.”

Hanzo winced as Jesse reached down to rub his abused flesh, squeezing that especially sensitive ridge of fat between his ass and thighs. The touch, fortunately, was fleeting, and the next thing Hanzo felt was Jesse’s hands on the frame, then-

His heart jumped as the frame tilted back, taking him with it. It was over in an instant, and Hanzo was left staring up at the ceiling. He would never be used to that feeling, the sudden jolt that he had to be used to in any other setting. It pulled him closer to and further away from reality all at once.

He felt hands supporting his head before Jesse’s face came into view above him.

“Hey there,” he said, smirking down at Hanzo.

Hanzo glared. He could hardly help himself, for how smug Jesse was. What gave him the right to do all this to Hanzo without so much as taking it seriously?

Hanzo did. Hanzo had given him the right to do so many things while he kept his flippant temperament. It was difficult to say precisely why Hanzo kept acting a fool.

Without ceremony, the bar holding Hanzo’s wrists was separated down the middle and pivoted up and back, spreading Hanzo’s arms out while giving Jesse the room to encroach even further into Hanzo’s space.

Hanzo winced as his wrists were pronated just a little too far, but he kept up his evil eye. Even with Jesse edging his groin just a little too close to Hanzo’s head.

Then, without fail, came Jesse’s request.

“If you could be so kind as to keep that mouth’a yours open, I’d be truly grateful.”

Hanzo laughed, a single, humorless sound.

“You’re dreaming, cow driver,” he jeered, pride still showing despite his position.

Jesse laughed right back, his eyes pinching and lighting up with genuine amusement. Like Hanzo had said something particularly pleasant and humorous.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you and I both know that you don’t want the switch again, not just now.” When he spoke again, Jesse’s voice had dropped an octave into his particularly dulcet tone. “Or are you just tryin’ to drag this out, hm? You like hangin’ around that much?”

Hanzo could almost feel his skin flushing at simply the manner in which Jesse had spoken. He would have never admitted it normally, but, when he cared to be, Jesse could be the most alluring man Hanzo had ever met. And, worst of all, he was completely right. He knew Hanzo far too well.

Hanzo let his head tip back and held his jaw open wide.

“That’s a good pet,” Jesse purred, using his natural hand to stroke fingers through Hanzo’s hair. “You just hold that and watch your teeth, and we’ll be all squared away.”

For an instant, Hanzo was very tempted to bite down on Jesse, to be particularly difficult that day and use Jesse’s assumptions against him.

It seemed like a decent idea as he listened to Jesse unzipping and pulling his cock out. As the head met his lips, though, Hanzo’s mind could not have strayed further from it. He didn’t move - couldn’t have if he’d wanted to - but the sense of control, of oppression of Hanzo’s typical wants, it was intoxicating.

Jesse slid in with ease. Hanzo knew this position well, and suppression of his gag reflex even better. Jesse could push down his throat with no concern and no resistance. In spite of himself, Hanzo took pride in knowing that Jesse could fuck his throat without a care in the world. He was the best in that sense

And, as was typical, that was exactly what Jesse began to do. First in small bucks, then in earnest thrusts. Hanzo kept his throat lax with a practiced ease.

It made him feel- used. Like a thing for Jesse to manipulate as he pleased. It removed his agency, his responsibility, his buried guilt. All that mattered was what Jesse wanted, the easy glide of his cock.

Time meant nothing, and it felt as though it was forever and no time at all when Jesse finally pressed deep into his throat, holding the position as he came down Hanzo’s throat.

Hanzo swallowed every drop with eager ambition. He had to be the best, even at this.

It was something of a disappointment when Jesse pulled out, stroking Hanzo’s throat all the while. He could hardly complain, though, when Jesse gazed down at him with half-lidded eyes. Adoration. Alien yet familiar on Jesse’s face.

Jesse leaned down to murmur to him, “You’re about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, you know that, Han?”

Hanzo would never have so much as thought about being pretty, let alone being superior in such an aspect. Still, he drank in the praise with no complaints.

“I’d say it’s about time we got you down from there,” Jesse said, stroking gentle fingers across Hanzo’s scalp.

Hanzo might have protested had he not cared to maintain a facade of not enjoying this exchange. He held his tongue, even as Jesse’s hand left his hair, and the frame was turned back upright. Hanzo shut his eyes, unwilling to give away any more earnest emotion than he already had. The most he allowed was a wince when the vibrator was finally pulled out.

Jesse took his time putting away the vibrator before coming around to his front and carefully unlatching Hanzo’s restraints. He released his feet first before moving on to his wrists. It should have been simple, to step down gracefully and support himself. Even a child could maneuver, after all. Yet Hanzo found that his limbs shook as they were released, and he couldn’t have found the ground if his face landed on it.

Fortunately for Hanzo, as he stumbled off of the frame, Jesse was right there, ready to take him into his arms.

“There you go,” Jesse cooed. “I got you, sugar, s’alright.”

It should have been humiliating. A Shimada, allowing himself to be embraced and held. Yet that was exactly what Hanzo did, and he enjoyed it for every second. He loved how easily Jesse could lift him, soft, human hand behind his back, prosthetic holding his legs, and both placed deliberately, as though Hanzo was the most precious thing in the world.

Maybe he was, in Jesse’s world. It was dangerous thinking, Hanzo knew, but he dared to ponder. He dared to consider Jesse important to him.

It made it easy to lean his head on Jesse’s shoulder as he was carried to their bed. He was tired, spent, yet still needy, and he’d follow whatever Jesse wanted of him. Even if that meant showing kindness to himself.

Hanzo didn’t comprehend the aged shack around them, not the tattered rugs or the dusty shelves or the way that light shone through holes in the roof. His mind was dead set on only one thing: Jesse. He barely understood what was happening as Jesse arranged him, face first on the bed. Hanzo couldn’t stop a whimper when the contact between him and Jesse was broken. Where was he going? Hanzo _needed_ him there, would kill to have him there. Although, perhaps that was not such an extreme thing for Hanzo to say or think.

It couldn’t have been too long, but it felt like forever before Hanzo felt Jesse’s hands on him again. He hissed at the sudden cool sensation on his ass as Jesse rubbed a salve in, squirming away from the sensation.

“S-sh,” Jesse soothed, reaching his prosthetic hand down to steady him. “You’re fine, sug, stay with me, it’s okay.”

Hanzo gritted his teeth, but he heeded Jesse’s advice and forced himself still, accepting his ministrations. And, after not too long, the pain dulled, and Hanzo was left with only pleasant contact. Hanzo took a deep breath and let it go. Jesse was right. He was fine. So long as Jesse was there, he would always be fine.

Once the salve was spread from Hanzo’s back down to his thighs, very gently, Jesse lifted him up once more. He carried Hanzo to the head of the bed before settling down, Hanzo resting on top of him. This was, perhaps, Hanzo’s absolute favorite place to be. His head on Jesse’s chest, Jesse’s arms around him. He was warm and safe and- happy. So, impossibly happy.

It was perfect. All too perfect.

From Jesse’s gentle embrace, Hanzo’s facade shattered like glass. A sob wracked him and he tensed up, moving to pull away.

“Hey,” Jesse drawled, putting his prosthetic hand across Hanzo’s back, and keeping him where he was. “Where you goin’?”

Hanzo’s fight was weak, and he felt his face blooming red, tears already flowing from his eyes. He shut them tight, refusing to look at Jesse, even as another sob tore through him. 

“Aw, Han,” Jesse said, tugging him forward. “Let me kiss it better.”

Being in no position to argue, Hanzo allowed Jesse to lean forward and place a kiss, first on his forehead, then down to his temples, on his brow. As he wept, Hanzo found himself choking out a laugh, smiling despite himself. How could anyone be so kind, so freely? 

“You’re just the most gorgeous thing,” Jesse said between kisses. “My Han. S’okay to let it out, want you here no matter what.”

Hanzo even appreciated the scratch of Jesse’s beard across his skin. What had become of him?

Slowly, but surely, Hanzo’s sobs eased. With every kiss, the tears slowed, and his breathing grew more regular. He felt lighter, as though his crying had purged him of some toxic substance flowing in his veins.

Soon enough, Jesse backed off, and Hanzo allowed his head to rest against his collarbone.

“Thank you,” Hanzo managed after a silence that stretched too long.

“Aw, it’s nothing, pumpkin,” Jesse told him, stroking from his scalp down to his back.

“You are wrong,” was the only rebuttal Hanzo could manage. He couldn’t say how much it meant, for Jesse to do these things for him.

“You’re feeling okay?” Jesse asked, all-too-soft for what they’d just done. “Wasn’t too much, was it?”

“No.” For the first time since they’d began, Hanzo was being entirely earnest. “Just perfect.”

“Yeah, you’re perfect alright,” Jesse said, brushing a lock of hair out of Hanzo’s face. “I love you.”

It made Hanzo’s heart flutter, to hear Jesse say that. It also struck him with fear and uncertainty. To have attachments meant loss, grief, sorrow, emotions that Hanzo had come to see as distractions and nothing more. Yet he’d allowed Jesse to grow close to him anyway, until he could deny their connection no longer. 

“And I you,” he said, finally relaxing fully into Jesse’s arms.

Perhaps Jesse was the fourth of the numbers he couldn’t forget. A number that didn’t hurt like the others. One that eclipsed forty, giving Hanzo the peace he sought.


End file.
